


All the Odds Are In My Favor

by notgrungybitchin



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Introspection, Light Angst, OTP: until next time, Romance, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notgrungybitchin/pseuds/notgrungybitchin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaret and AR confront the nature of their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Odds Are In My Favor

Four minutes past eleven on a Thursday night, Margaret was once again exchanging smiling glances with Arnold Rothstein across her dining room table.

Almost two months had passed since that strange night in Brooklyn, when the sort of car rarely seen in her neighborhood quietly parked outside Margaret’s building, ferrying a man who had already begun to surprise her.

Since that night--the humor, the kindness, the small gestures of understanding and respect--had continued, until they weren’t even surprises anymore.

Their little alliance was far more enjoyable than it ought to have been. Margaret felt free and powerful, something she was unused to with these sorts of dealings. With Enoch, any foray into his business was always at his patronizing behest, asking tasks of her she wasn’t supposed to fully understand. She wasn’t a part of it. Not so with Mr. Rothstein.

It was never her husband's business she hated. That was only what she told him, what she let him think, because he would never understand.

Mr. Rothstein understood.

Rather, Arnold. She had started to think of him as Arnold.

He would light up whenever he looked at her. In their business he always arranged personal meetings, even when it didn’t seem necessary. He joked and spoke to her casually. They talked openly about her neighbors, her employer, even some of his other dealings in the city. His warmth and trust worried her--most of all because it made her happy.

Some things were the same; the milk and the tea. The man’s palate reminded her of old friends in the Temperance League.

The table was new. Margaret had bought it herself. She was slowly filling her family’s spacious rooms with a thrift unsuited to her newly disposable income. Around the table, another meeting for business had quickly transformed into comfortable conversation.

Mr. Rothstein would call on her weekly now. Sometimes he would visit in the daylight, when Teddy and Emily were up and about. He would bring them little presents and treats, and he would check on how Margaret was getting along.

 At the office, he would chat with her at her desk whenever he attended meetings with Mr. Bennett, and they would exchange the shifty smiles of co-conspirators. They would hide it under a mask of simple flirtation, which Margaret found wasn’t difficult.

Often he would visit in the evenings. Margaret would put Teddy and Emily to bed, and she would set the table.

This night was no different from the others. Any changes had come slowly and intangibly. But there was no doubt that lately, Margaret felt something in the company of her guest that she hadn’t before.

They were lingering over their empty teacups. Margaret had finished relating an amusing incident in her office that week. It was the sort of relatively uneventful story that only seemed worth sharing with a friend.

Their quiet laughter trailed off as the conversation paused for a moment.  Arnold glanced down at the cake crumbs on his plate. He seemed prepared to broach a new subject. His expression was suddenly nervous. It was a look he occasionally had about him when he spoke to her, and it always struck Margaret. It was so unlike the manner in which the man usually carried himself. But it had always appeared briefly, even on that night in her little rooms in Brooklyn. Tonight it lingered. Margaret stared at him, and then looked hastily at the table. She sensed an awkwardness that she hadn’t felt in his presence for some time.

“I wanted to thank you Margaret. I don’t know—”

Her eyes shot up suddenly. Arnold had frozen in his chair, mid-sentence, with a look of terrified embarrassment. Margaret furrowed her brow. She must have looked offended, because he quickly glanced down again.

On the contrary. She was merely thinking.

“I…should be going.” Arnold stood up so quickly, he almost knocked his chair over.  “Good night… _Miss Rohan_.”

Margaret smiled to herself. She had made her decision.

 “I hope you have a pleasant—”

She put her hand on his wrist, gently but resolutely. She stood up to face him as he turned back towards her. She kissed him.

She had merely intended to tell him that it was all right, that she loved the sound of her name in his voice, and that he could stay. _She wanted to call him Arnold_. Instead, before she could even comprehend what she was doing, she kissed him.

And he was kissing her. There was no surprise in his manner. She had leaned suddenly towards his lips, and he leaned towards hers. An unspoken understanding surfacing in the same moment.

They paused, looked at each other.

Margaret was beaming. “Well then, Arnold.”

He smiled. It was his genuine smile. Not the expression he used around Mr. Bennett, but the one he used around her.

 “Would you like me to stay then?” He was almost laughing when he said it.

“Yes. Yes, that would be nice.”

* * *

 Later, she rolled out of her bed, carefully, so as not to wake the man beside her. It was a challenge; Arnold had his arms around her even as he slept. His embrace was surprisingly earnest. As he drifted off, it had become even more so. Not in a possessive or suffocating way. But as the haze of sleepiness stripped him of any remaining pretence, he clung almost desperately. She put on a robe and turned briefly, considering him on her bed. Even asleep, he sensed her absence. He had immediately found a bunching of blankets and held them as if they were her.

She shuffled out into the hall, catching her puzzled expression in the small mirror by the door. She wasn’t certain what in particular had caused it, or why she couldn’t sleep.

She went to the dining room and began to clear the plates and teacups that still sat on the table. As she did, the memories of a late winter’s night four years ago came flooding back, and she recalled another man who had surprised her with her first name.

Wherever this was going, she had already received more from Arnold then her husband had ever given her. She had things now, things she always wanted but had never dared admit to wanting. She was in a world she had wished take part in, not as a spectator or a victim but as a player. She was naïve when she met Enoch. She had convinced herself that she once loved him, but looking back, she always wondered how much of her love was for the man himself, and how much was for the hope he had offered her. Hope for some power, some control, that he never gave her. With Arnold, she already had control, and it wasn’t a gift.

She walked to the kitchen to wash the dishes, considering her surroundings as she did so. Her apartment was grand, but it wasn’t the lavishly furnished affair that Mr. Kessler had ferried her family to years ago. She had no gifts or fine clothes from Arnold, only what they had agreed on, along with his company. And now…this.

She was happy about it, whatever it was. She put the dishes away, turned and leaned on the counter. That was it. _She wasn’t_ _worried_ , and it had puzzled her to the point of sleeplessness. Worry had been a feeling she was so accustomed to, and one that had haunted her when she was first introduced to Mr. Abe Redstone. Now, the absence of fear had itself made her uneasy. But why should it? She knew where she stood, what to be careful of, and what made her happy.

She smiled and walked back to the bedroom.

“Margaret?”

“Sorry,” she crawled back into bed and settled beside him, “did I wake you?”

“It’s fine. I sleep better here…” he trailed off drowsily.

Margaret could tell he was on the verge of some confession—the sort of vulnerability that had so concerned her when she started out with Nucky. But he was barely conscious, and it would have to wait. She would be ready.

“You’ve never slept here before,” she teased. “And you’ve only been sleeping twenty minutes at most.”

“Oh?” He smiled slightly as his hand found her shoulder, though his eyes barely opened. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” she whispered. And she was telling the truth.

 She moved closer, placed her hand gently on his hair, the side of his face. He was asleep again in an instant. And soon, she was too.


End file.
